This is so true! Already I’m planning for Livi’s 4th birthday, and she was only born 15 minutes ago. My tiny wee girl who had me up 10 times a night, every night, for almost 2 years straight and I thought I’d never sleep again, is heading to school in September… how is that even possible?!
I was chatting with a colleague recently, a dad who has older boys, and he was waxing lyrical about how quickly it all goes by. He stopped working for a number of years in order to raise his lads, and he took on other people’s kids too, as a childminder. Telling me stories about rushing here there any everywhere to get the shopping in and get them from nursery and do all the things a parent has to do in the 24 hours a day we are given. And yet now, with his lads in their twenties, how quickly that time went by.
I was grateful for the reminder. The days can feel sooooo long that you’re praying for bedtime to come, but at the same time, Liv’s going to school in September, and I know that once we enter that stage of life, it’s just going to fly by. School days, extra curricular activities, play dates, going to friends’ for dinner… whilst the challenges of parenting remain, I have a feeling I’m going to be desperate for the passing of time to slow down.
Friends who have little girls who are 8 now, sending me photos with captions about how big they are and how they wish they’d stop growing.
I’ve experienced many things in life, I’ve had many opportunities before settling down into marriage and babies, but nothing compares to the fragility and joy of how I have felt as a parent. I’ve seen the worst and the best of myself. I’ve had that desperate “stop the world I want to get off!” feeling, and that deep knowing that I would die for my kids if it came to it. Most days I collapse into bed absolutely wrecked, and so thankful the day is done, but then scroll through photos of my babies whilst missing them when they’re asleep.
I don’t think there’s anything that can compare to it. The highs and lows of this extraordinary rollercoaster called parenting. And I guess depending on your own upbringing, expectations, experiences, filters, culture, and so on, each of us will judge ourselves differently, and have different values for what ‘successful’ parenting looks like. And when I miss the mark that I have subconsciously set myself, that’s when I become my most fragile – because I care more deeply about loving my children well than about anything else, and my apparent failures in that area can knock me for six.
BUT! Simply knowing that that is the case, tells me I’m not doing too badly, because my kids are kind, affectionate, brave, clever, creative, silly, cheeky, hilariously funny at times, and they care about other people. They can be proper little monkeys of course, but that’s the universal right of kids, isn’t it!
It’s emotionally draining, and in the early years at least, it’s physically draining too, but oh my goodness, it is SO worth it. I’m reminding myself to not wish the time away, even though it can be difficult, but to savour every precious moment of them needing and wanting me, because I know it’s not going to last forever.
Mama, please just be yourself. Be your best self, for your little ones, but be yourself. And actually, you amazing dads who just want to do your very best for your kids, same goes for you!
It’s just starting to dawn on me that the best way I can be consistent in my parenting, is to actually be me. No parent is perfect, no method is fool proof, no technique is guaranteed, and no particular style has the same effect on every child. So rather than add to the confusion by trying to imitate someone else, or tie yourself in knots trying to stick to a certain way of doing things that isn’t natural to you, why not just parent from the inside out.
You know you, and you know your child(ren) better than any internet parenting guru. Of course there are some helpful ideas and studies available, but they cannot replace your experience, your intuition, and your knowledge of your tiny human.
I have a number of friends who have different ages of kids, and I admire the parenting skills of many of them. I find myself trying to channel my inner *enter name here* and parent my kids like they parent theirs. But I can’t do it consistently, so I feel like I’m confusing my kids more by demonstrating different behaviours myself.
So I’m coming to the conclusion that I shall simply be me. On good days and hard days, on days where I’m oozing affection and days where I feel like I’m losing my mind, I’m going to let my kids see me.
Children become what they see, not what they are told to be. So if I’m trying to be like someone else, who are they imitating? Or worse, will they learn that there’s no value to who they are, and that they too should try to be like some else? If they see me happy, and sad, and tired, and excited etc, so basically just being real, perhaps they will learn that their own feelings are also valid and nothing to be ashamed of. I don’t know, that’s just a thought.
My heart is with a few of my friends who have very little ones and are struggling through various issues. I wish I had formulas, answers, resolutions for their struggles but the honest truth is sometimes you just have to simply keep going… when you’re feeling entirely empty, like, actually completely empty… you just keep going. And you’ll make it through. You will. Those rough nights that feel like they’re going to finish you off… you’ll make it. All of those stages and phases that make you want to hide in a dark room… you’ll survive them. The love you have for your kids is enough. I know it doesn’t always feel like it, but it really is.
You are enough, just as you are. You are good enough. You are loved by your children – in fact, you are their whole world. Give them the best of yourself each day – which sometimes means you simply survive a day together; everyone ate, drank and has clean bums (you and them!!)
Learn from others, sure! But be yourself, and give yourself some grace.
I heard on the radio today about a new podcast that will be talking about the trauma of childbirth. The ad reminded me that because the minute childbirth is over you immediately have your baby and the new, unrelenting, unforgiving demands of a new-born, as well as whatever else in your life still needs your attention and investment, we can often just ‘crack on’. It got me thinking. That’s so true. For the dads in the labour room too.
One of my first blog posts was about my own experience in becoming a mother, and I was honest in what I said. But I didn’t go into a huge amount of depth.
Both my labours were very difficult, but after each one I had my babies in my arms, and went straight to trying to breastfeed them, whilst someone at the other end was sewing me up. Then it was all about learning this new tiny little person, responding to every cry to work out whether they were hungry, cold, dirty nappy, needed cuddles, skin on skin, and so on.
And then it very quickly became about taking them home and what that would be like.
Then it was all about baby’s weight gain / loss, checking the belly-button, making sure our house was right and safe, talking about all the ‘stuff’ that needs to be talked about by midwives and health visitors. Checking my stitches to make sure they’re healing.
I could continue in this vein, but I want to focus on what I think actually was a traumatic labour experience for me, the second time. Birthing Liv was hard work, and very painful, and lasted a long time but…
Toby’s was a traumatic experience. I talked about it in the immediate aftermath, with family and friends; I’m not shy or particularly private even about this stuff, but I actually think there’s something there that I really need to process.
I was induced with Toby. At 40 years old I was told I could opt for induction on my due date, rather than waiting until 41 or 42 weeks. I was up for that, get him out of me! I was so poorly with flu like symptoms, major conjunctivitis and huge headaches the few days before he was born, I was very ready for him to be out. It was only once I was lying in my hospital bed, all wired up, 1cm dilated, and ready to get going that a consultant came in and happened to mention he didn’t believe it was right to induce at 40 weeks, as it was unnecessary and too early. Well, cheers pal, that’s so helpful right now.
We went ahead, as by that time I was not about to go back home again.
Never mind the length of time it took for the gel hormones to kick in, I did ultimately, around 6am the following morning, start with sudden and extremely sharp, deep and painful contractions. They did all the measurements and scans to check little man was where he should be, and he was. Head down, engaged, and ready to go. I made it very clear that I absolutely wanted an epidural, and was promised would get one, but I was only 3cm dilated so they would wait until I was 7cm.
I don’t remember all the little details or the timeline from that point, but just as they were preparing my epidural, the consultant checked if she could feel his head, and he wasn’t there! She couldn’t find him (internal check). He had disengaged and shifted back up inside my tummy. Suddenly there were about 8 people huddled round the business end of my bed trying to figure out what to do. This lasted about an hour. I was in excruciating pain with every contraction, and had no pain relief at all. My poor husband was in the room during all of this, watching me in pain (again!) and entirely helpless to do anything about it.
When they checked again after that hour, Toby had re-engaged and was on his way out. I asked with desperation for my epidural, but was denied, as it was too late and baby was already trying to get out!
SO MUCH PAIN.
In addition to that, he was apparently lying on his umbilical cord, compressing it and putting himself at risk, so they asked me to turn onto my left side. Well, I tell you with no word of a lie, I couldn’t, I couldn’t do it. So they, and my lovely husband, did it for me, and I have never felt anything like it. There are literally no words to describe the intense agony I felt in that moment, I screamed out so loudly (right in Jon’s ear, literally) that they immediately put me back where I was, I did one huge push, they episiotomied me, shoved some forceps in, dragged him out, and there he was! I heard the sound of, and Jon saw with his own eyes, over a litre of blood pour out of me and into, basically a bin bag, hung across the width of the end of my bed. He nearly fainted. Twice. A naked, blood covered, 8lb gorgeous little man who had my heart. And all of my immune system apparently, because as soon as he was out, the headaches went, the conjunctivitis was gone in less than a day, and no flu symptoms.
But, I’ve never actually given that experience much mental or emotional attention because there’s not really been the opportunity! And over 2 years on, I’ve ‘got over it’, haven’t I?
I’m not sure actually, because when I think about it, I try to be quite matter of fact, but actually what happened to my body that day was brutal. Labour was 3.5 hours, he was born at 9.23am. It was the worst 3.5 hours of my life, that resulted in the best little man I could have ever dreamed of.
But then, when you think about all the awful situations where mums go through labour (or even before they get the chance to) and then something unthinkable happens, and they don’t even get their baby to take home. I can’t even begin to imagine that. When I try my brain actually shuts down and prevents me from going there. For anyone who has been through that, I am so so sorry. You have my sincerest and deepest sympathy, and so much respect that you have managed to carry on in life.
I got my boy. Healthy, happy, not too much drama once he was out (just some weight loss and trouble latching, so we went to bottle feeding after 4 months and all was well). So does that mean the trauma my body went though doesn’t count, because the result was so positive? Does it mean I just need to ignore it and not give it any time?
To be honest I don’t even know how to process it, but I’m a person who believes in the genuine influence of emotions, the reality of hormones, and the fragility of mental health. So I do want to give it some attention. I’ll let you know how I get on once I find my way.
Much love to you all, as you’re walking your own parenting journeys. It’s not easy, and it’s good to share.
I was, and am, determined not to allow cultural expectations to dictate how my children live and progress through their early years. All these labels that people put on particular age brackets can make you expect certain behaviours, and I don’t think it’s a given that all two year olds have “terrible twos”, etc.
That said, “Threenager” is a pretty accurate label for my strong-willed, independent, rule-questioning, intelligent, articulate 3 and a half year old!
And I want to talk about it, because it can be a struggle.
It goes without saying that I love my big girl with literally my whole life, and she really is my dream come true. That was true the day we found out we were pregnant, true when I gave birth to her, and true throughout every moment of every day since.
I have encountered many other parents with children the same age as mine, and I hear the same things over and over again. Almost every 3 year old is challenging! I remind myself often that it is not her personality that challenges me, it her developmental stage (I hope). Now, I know that’s not an overarching excuse for unacceptable behaviour, like hitting, biting, shouting at me, throwing things (at me, or otherwise!) or pure unadulterated defiance, but knowing that just about every 3 year old’s parents are facing the same or very similar challenges helps me remember that they are learning, pushing boundaries and experiencing so many things for the first time. With guidance, patience and consistent boundaries (which is so much harder to do than to say!) they will emerge on the other side as much nicer little people… or so I have been told…!
Even today a friend of mine was describing her weekend with her almost 4 year old little boy. The battle of wills over almost every normal day-to-day thing like getting shoes on to go out… or the rolling of the eyes when asked to do something, or when they tell you to do something the way you sometimes tell them to do something but it sounds so awful when it comes out of their little mouths! “Mummy, sit down now!” “Not yet, I’m busy at the moment” “Shush, you’re not listening to me”. How do you respond to that, knowing they’ve heard it from you?!
Three is as hard as it is wonderful, and as wonderful as it is hard. I adore listening to her sing songs in the car, and get all the words right for the first time. She will, out of nowhere, tell me she loves me so so so so so so so so so much. She’ll tell me I’m her best friend. She’s becoming so creative, and so generous, and so kind. She’s incredibly sociable, loves people, and has the strength and determination to make a difference in the world. And I love her so stinking much!! But MAN when she’s defiant I don’t know what to do with myself! I dislike the behaviour, and quite often, I am very disappointed with my own response to that behaviour.
And again, as I’ve mentioned multiple times before, there is so much out there about how to navigate this, and how to understand what it is they are dealing with and experiencing. But in the every day moments when you’re almost late for work, or you’ve given them enough of a heads-up that the activity is about to change, or you’ve asked 15 times with ever increasing urgency… in those moments when you’re so tired and so fed up of being ignored, those strategies go right out of the window.
I’m not actually complaining, for the record! I just know that this stuff doesn’t really get said publicly very often, and I want to be a bit of a voice for those who can relate to how this feels, and what it’s like day in day out, and again say ‘you’re not alone’.
Whatever age your kids are, parenting is glorious and parenting is tough.
And in my opinion. if you’re trying your best to do what’s best for them, you’re winning.
Sometimes, I don’t feel like I’m winning. But I’m choosing to believe that I am, and I will tell myself again, ‘I am a good mum’.
have kids they said... 